Lesson in Betrayal: Ties that Bind Ties that Break
by windwraith
Summary: What happens when the Captain of the Cardinal's guards finally reaches the breaking point? When caught between a rock and hard place where can he turn for help? Stand Alone or Side Story to YB 'Unleashed Saga' Warning: Infrequently updated.
1. Brotherly Love

-Ties that Bind--Ties that Break-

The Secret of Brotherly Love

The stuttering torchlight cast haunting shadows down the length of the storeroom. This place hadn't originally been designed as a storage space the room was in the shape of a small barrel vault with ribbed cross beams in the ceiling and a small semi-circular apse at one end. A stack of barrels and crates littered the center of the chamber but the niches in the wall around the perimeter stood empty. He suspected they had probably contained statues but those had been removed or destroyed long ago.

There weren't many places in this castle where one felt free to be alone with his thoughts but this was his. If anyone were to enter the room they could come and go and never notice the lean figure resting his back idly against the stone column biting his nails. It was a disgusting habit; his mother had always said so. The captain had tried to stop many times over the years but self-discipline was never one of his strong suits. All who wore the blood-red tunic knew the penalties for disobedience. The illustrious Cardinal was not above reminding his hounds he was the one who held the leash. Still he was not opposed to the notion that others who did not respect his beasts occasionally got bit. Red-guards were expected to have a certain edge of ferocity. Pity those who were soft.

Bernard had never considered himself soft…inept sometimes, but not soft. Though he did not bear the tattoo marking him a true member of the dark-order, he had worn the black cowl and mask often enough while doing their dirty-work. He knew many of their secrets…He'd helped bury the bodies, for darkness sake. "How could they do this!" Bernard fumed. He pushed himself away from the sandstone column and he kicked one of the crates then threw himself into one on the niches drawing his knees up to his chin. Like sand in an hourglass a thin trickle of grain fell from the cracked wood to pile on the floor. At least the mice would be happy tonight.

The captain pulled at his short cropped hair. "What am I to do?" Tears sparked in the corner his dark eyes and he rubbed them away with his sleeve, wiping his nose while he was at it. "Lydia is my little sister; I can't just let the Order have her." Bernard couldn't help but wonder how different his life would have been if the Musketeer had not turned him away, forcing him to go to the Guards all those years ago. As annoying and self-righteous as Musketeers were they protect their own. If he had been one of them there might even be some who would go against the order itself to mount a rescue party-They'd done it for Jacques after all. But he wasn't one of them and he had no one to turn to for help.

Then again…Why not? The musketeer's didn't have to know it was his sister they were rescuing…They didn't have to know anything about him at all. He could just arrange for them to get their hands on certain information, maybe make it easier for them to succeed. If he was caught the master would kill him, or worse, for the betrayal…but as he saw it, the Order betrayed him first. Time and again they had him compromise his honor, his reputation, his sense of decency…and he had done it. But one had to draw the line somewhere; he would NOT betray his family. That was the only thing he had left. If he let the dark ones have her, Bernard knew he would be forfeiting the last scrap of his soul; And to do that he might as well be dead.

Chapter Two


	2. Let the Games Begin

Let the Games Begin

Malcolm de Leon strutted about the tennis court with a racquet tucked under his arm like a riding crop. As cardinal's guards go the quiet young man wasn't that bad. Bernard didn't trust him of course but he was a fair sight easier to work with than Vicious Villefore or any of the other officers of the guard. Bernard made a strong overhand serve to the other side of the court and the man stumbled to get his racquet up before sending the cork ball back to his captain.

Bernard returned the projectile effortlessly, how he had loved teaching his sister to play _Jeu de Volant._ Her laugh could melt the ice of winter and smile was like sunshine of spring. He could not let the order take that away…never. De Leon hit the shuttlecōck a bit more forcefully then he anticipated and sent it careening wildly into the arcade where spectators could sit under awnings to watch. There were none, of course.

Musketeers always seemed to have more than their fair share of swooning females strutting about trying to catch the soldier's eye. So too the royal blue tunic had been a magnet for eager young boys, eyes aglow with hero worship. Bernard had been one, once upon a time, hanging about the tennis courts hoping to catch a glimpse of the legends Athos and Porthos playing at Battadore. Not so with the cardinal's men. No one cared to observe what THEY did with their free time, even if it was perfectly innocent…well, MOSTLY innocent anyway.

"_Mordieu__!"_ the Gascon expletive rang out in the arcaded hall heralding the arrival of d'Artagnan the lesser and his companion.

"We reserved the courts for this afternoon, _caballeros. _Doesn't the cardinal teach his lackeys to read…!" the Spaniard quipped

"I can't speak for Lieutenant de Leon here, but I read quite well_…mierda del pollo." _He added taking care to insult the Spaniard in his own language as proof he was more than up to the challenge.

The Spanish musketeer looked surprised but did not let himself be goaded into doing something rash.

Malcolm returned to the court beside his captain "I thought you wanted to keep thinks quiet like." He whispered smoothing the feathers on the shuttlecōck wishing those weren't the only feathers so easily ruffled.

"These little blue boys are here for a game…let's give them a game." Bernard grinned setting his racquet aside and gesturing meaningfully.

"_Jeu de paumme"_ [the game of the palm D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow, "Two on two?" he asked.

"Unless you'd like to face me single…." Bernard smiled mockingly and added "junior."

Gascon blood runs hot and any comparison with his father was generally enough to provoke the young musketeer. "You've got yourself a match Bernard." Young d'Artagnan growled, The musketeer carelessly stripped off his tunic and hung it on the empty peg between the two red tunics and took the other guard's place on the field.

"_Tenez!"_ Bernard exclaimed [play! and let the musketeer begin the first volley since it was his ball they were using. The guardsman knew that, for his plan, it really didn't matter which of them won the game. Strategically missed shots and clever ricochets sent the three tunics from their pegs and into a heap on the ground. From there it would be easy to accidentally leave a packet of papers behind in the rumpled folds of the musketeer's uniform.

But the sly captain couldn't be obvious, he had to put up a good game, and deep down he DID want to show off for the legend's son. Crossing swords was one thing… real tennis was another; the sport of kings. Before too long Malcolm and Ramon were hooting and hollering enthusiastically for their respective players as the ball darted back and forth with surprising speed and accuracy. Bernard loved playing for an audience. It was exhilarating; he didn't want it to end. But it must.

"Enough!" the captain called panting heavily; the bell in Saint Paul's tolled mournfully in the distance. "This has been an entertaining diversion but we need to get back to work." The captain tried to put just the right mix of condescending and genuine eagerness to be away in his voice.

Malcolm's eyes went wide at the very thought of being late, the master did not take kindly to such things and the punishments could be…intense. He did not need to be told twice. He reached over the wall and grabbed the two red uniforms tossing one to Bernard and shrugging hastily into the other.

The captain knew by the way the pieces of clothing moved that the bundle had fallen out as he had expected and would soon be in the possession of the idealistic king's men. He could only hope they would decide to act of the information found inside it.


	3. Mistakes of Identity

Mistakes of Identity

Bernard wished he could remain hidden somewhere in the tennis courts to see the musketeers take possession of the folio he has left behind. He yearned to see the look of confusion crease young d'Artagnan's features as he tried to puzzle out the meaning. He would enlist the aid of his Spanish friend and together they would bring the pages to the garrison.

Mazarin's captain knew the home of the musketeer far better than those that currently resided there would be comfortable with. He had spent nearly three hours exploring it imagining the life he hoped to have. Bernard's often wondered if Captain Duval even recalled the day he thoughtlessly shattered his dreams. Of course he hadn't gone by Bernard then.

He was Nicolas Bernard St. Clare and there were two things that mattered more than life itself to the then sixteen year old. One was his dream to become a musketeer…the other was loyalty to his brother Alphonse. How could he know those two goals were mutually exclusive?

Nicolo idolized his elder brother…but Alphonse had a cruel streak. The two boys were only a year apart in age and their elders often confused one for the other. While Nicolas dreamed of the blue and silver…his brother actively courted the Cardinal. As it happened, more than a few of Alphonse's less than savory deeds had come to the attention of the musketeer captain. And when the younger St. Care had come, all wide-eyed and hopeful to the garrison, Duval branded him a nothing but a troublemaker and dutifully tossed him out on his ear.

After that disgrace Nicolas had no choice but to reevaluate his options. In the end it seemed he had no choice but to follow his brothers lead…and that meant becoming a guard when he came of age. For almost three years the there had been two guards with the surname of Bernard to wear the red and gold. Working at his brother's side, earning his regard, almost made up for the nature of the work. Nicolas's conscience kept him awake many a night early in his career but that was before the murderess Jacqueline Roget plunged her dagger in Alfonse's heart.

Rather than learn a new name for his captain…Mazarin began Calling Nicolas "Captain Bernard"…rather than "Lieutenant Bernard." Perhaps it was simply a convenience…or perhaps the His Eminence genuinely failed to recall the elder Bernard's death. But Nicolas's elevation to his brother's rank came with its own price.

Some days it seemed Roget's deceitful blade penetrated his breast as well as his brothers. Nicolas could feel the cold steel with each beat of his heart. When his brother died…there wasn't anyone to shield him from the attentions of the dark order and once they got their hooks into you, there was no turning back.

Alfonse failed as an older brother…Nicolas would not, or so he hoped. Little Lydie was too innocent too pure, the touch of the evil ones would surely destroy her. As he rode in silence back to the guardsman's barracks his hands were white knuckled on the reigns. 'You owe me this, musketeers.' His mind screamed, 'A life for a life…follow that dammed noble nature of yours…If you fail me I'll slit your throats I swear…each one of you…and you can be sure I'll save Jacques Roget for last.'

Despite what people thought, Bernard was no fool. He recognized the young man that called himself Lepont. He knew all too well family resemblances do not lie. Bernard studied the portrait of the man's sister each night, often clutching the wanted poster in his fist as he drifted off to sleep. But Nicolas would not make Duval's mistake…taking vengeance on the brother for what his sibling had done.

"Something the matter Bernard?" Lieutenant de Leon asked. Doubtless the other man noticed his comrade's posture, ramrod straight in the saddle. Or the glazed look in his eyes.

"I miss my brother." The captain answered before he should stop the words from tripping off his tongue. He mentally berated himself for that utter lack of decorum…before a subordinate no less.

"I didn't know you have family." The Lieutenant mused, "I've never tried life as a civilian. Must be nice."

"Sometimes," Bernard answered. "Sometimes it is really hard though."

"Don't let the dark ones overhear you thinking like that…they don't take kindly to divided loyalties." The other man quietly cautioned.

"Don't I know it," Bernard sighed and the two men were both lost in their thoughts for the remainder of the ride.


End file.
